


red and white (all over)

by Snickfic



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Flogging, Possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-06 04:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: “We don’t have to,” Shuri said, because Bucky looked so nervy, standing there in her sitting room, nude to the waist, and already flushed across his chest in great blotches.He met her eyes unflinchingly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Please.”





	red and white (all over)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seinmit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seinmit/gifts).

“We don’t have to,” Shuri said, because Bucky looked so nervy, standing there in her sitting room, nude to the waist, and already flushed across his chest in great blotches. 

He met her eyes unflinchingly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Please.”

Shuri twirled the flogger so that the leather tresses swished. She’d made it herself of native Wakandan cowhide; she’d dyed the woven leathers of the handle red and white without thinking too much about her choices until now as she looked at the bleached paleness of his skin and the red of the star he’d insisted she paint on his shoulder, _to remember_. Red and white; what was bloody and what was clean. 

“Cross your arms in front of you,” she said.

Bucky turned to her, alarmed, unnerved. “You were going to tie me up.”

“I changed my mind,” she said, rather than argue. Bonds had always been his idea, not hers. She prodded him in the ribs with the soft blunt end of the flogger. “In front of you.”

He did what she said, flesh arm crossing the vibranium-plated one. Shuri walked around him, inspecting the view, the angles of his shoulder blades, the rounding of his shoulders. His hair was tied back, out of the way. He was flushed back here, too, and she hadn’t touched him yet.

“What if I—”

“You’re not going to move,” Shuri said.

“But—”

“You won’t,” she said, and whether it was an order or a promise, she wasn’t sure anymore. Both. “You won’t hurt me. You won’t _move_. You’ll stand absolutely still and let me hit you. Won’t you?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said, circling him again. Without warning, she hit him. The tresses slapped across his back. He flinched, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Didn’t turn around and try to murder her, as if that were somehow any more or less a hazard now that he had two arms than when he’d had one. 

Shuri spun the flogger and hit him again. His flinch was smaller this time, minute, almost imperceptible. The impact brought a diffuse, rosy flush to the skin just over his right trapezoid—a softer discoloration than his general anxious blotchiness. This time, the flush was due not to Bucky’s own divided feelings, but due to Shuri.

She’s practiced on pillows, in the weeks since she’d first offered him this. The results hadn’t been nearly so satisfying then.

Shuri got a rhythm going, an easy figure eight back and forth across Bucky’s shoulders. The slap of the leather falls were like heavy rain drops on canvas. Bucky’s rigidity melted slowly away. He relaxed into it, the gentle stinging pain she offered him. At last she stood back to admire the reddish bloom across his shoulders, the way his ribs expanded with each breath.

Then Bucky ruined the moment. “I don’t think—”

“Hush,” Shuri said. She came around to face him, to let him search her eyes. “You don’t trust me yet?”

His gaze dropped. “I don’t trust _me_ yet.”

Her poor wounded soldier who didn’t want to fight. “Kneel,” Shuri said. Startled, Bucky looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded. Carefully he dropped, there at her feet. He wasn’t in the habit of it, but something in her said that he could be. He looked perfect, there on her woven rug, head bowed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, but all it’d take was a word, she knew.

Shuri reached for his jaw and tipped it up, so that his blue eyes met hers. “Trust me,” she said softly. “I took the words from your mind. You are not some _attack dog_.” His own words, weeks ago. “You control your actions now—nobody but you.”

“And you?” he asked, with a trace of humor.

“And me,” Shuri said, swelling with the responsibility of it, the surety of it. Bucky belonged to himself, to her, and to no one else. “And you won’t hurt anyone you don’t mean to, because I won’t let you. I _won’t let you_,” she repeated, gripping his jaw. She thumbed across his cheekbone and waited for him to believe.


End file.
